


Sleepless

by thisiszircon



Category: Ashes to Ashes (UK TV)
Genre: F/M, Post-Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:01:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26843293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisiszircon/pseuds/thisiszircon
Summary: Gene and Alex explore a possible cure for insomnia.
Relationships: Alex Drake/Gene Hunt
Comments: 12
Kudos: 35





	Sleepless

Gene Hunt did not like his house.

Not that there was anything much the matter with it. Some walls and a roof, several rooms, furniture and carpets and a spot of central heating to keep the English winter at bay. It was a house. As long as it maintained its functionality, he felt no need to form an opinion about its architecture or its style or location.

Well, besides the fact that it was situated around two hundred miles too far to the south.

He just didn't like spending time in it. Alone. He didn't like the absence of distraction: the way his mind would sometimes wander off to dark places. And he was never quite sure whether the insomnia he suffered was down to this dislike, or whether he disliked the house because he couldn't sleep in it.

Perhaps it was a bit of both. A vicious circle.

Usually, when the insomnia hit, he'd ignore it. He would pretend he'd _meant_ to sit up all night watching Westerns on VHS. The worst thing you could do when sleep eluded you was to lie in bed trying desperately to nod off. Insomnia just laughed in your face when you did that.

For this reason, on this particular night, he regretted having gone to bed at all. Another bout of insomnia had stolen up on him and was now making its presence felt: his muscles were tense and his head was cluttered with thoughts that really, truly did _not_ need thinking, and every time he closed his eyes some new part of his body itched, or ached, or demanded some brief and meaningless attention just long enough for it to be annoying as hell.

With a sigh, he reached for the bedside light and tried to garner the energy to get up, put a dressing gown on and pad downstairs to a few stiff drinks and a flickering television set.

It was ten to three in the morning. He'd been in bed an hour. And right at that moment, he did not like this bloody house.

Gene tossed the covers back and heaved himself up to a sitting position. And then – oh, blessed distraction – the telephone rang. He was no stranger to middle-of-the-night calls, though his heart sank a little because they invariably meant that something terrible had happened to someone undeserving. Still. A distraction was a distraction and he was in no place to quibble. He reached for the receiver and answered the call.

"Yeah?" he said. Or perhaps 'grunted'. Just because he was glad of the distraction didn't mean he had to be polite. It was nearly three o'fucking-clock in the morning. Politeness was optional.

"I can't sleep," came the reply.

Which was not what he'd been expecting. Especially not _her_ voice. DI Bolly-knickers.

Gene gave a sniff. "Why is this my problem?"

"Because I'm telling you about it."

"Why are you telling me about it?"

"Because I don't want it to be only my problem. A problem shared is a problem halved. I would like only half of this problem. I might be able to cope with that much of it."

"Bolly."

"Yep. That's me."

"Too many words."

"Yep, also me."

He sighed hard. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Right now, I am failing to sleep. Sleepless in Seattle. Or Fenchurch. That doesn't sound right, though. Whitechapel! Sleepless in Whitechapel. I'll be Tom Hanks, you can be Meg Ryan."

"Your issue," he mumbled, "does not seem to be lack of sleep, but lack of sanity."

"Sorry. Insomnia makes me think a stupid amount of pointless thoughts." She groaned out a noise of disgust, perhaps at herself, perhaps at the world around her. "Can't sleep."

"Yeah, got that part."

"Thought I'd tell you."

"Fan-bloody-tastic." He had run out of patience. "Consider me informed. Now go away. G'night B–"

"If you put the phone down I'm telling everyone in the office you bought me flowers two weeks ago."

Gene frowned, then he tutted and collapsed to his back. He tossed his free arm over his eyes to shade out the light. "I did not buy you flowers, you lunatic woman, I bought flowers for a bloody grave."

"And you gave them to me to put on it. Hence, you bought me flowers."

Two graves. One which would go untended, since the man buried within was a killer. And one which bore the name 'Caroline Price'. He hadn't even liked the woman. He had no idea why it had mattered so much to him: helping Alex through all that. Whatever 'that' was.

"It's three in the ruddy morning, Bolly, is there a point to this conversation?" he asked. Changing the subject.

"There is."

He waited. She didn't offer further words. "And?" he pressed.

"And I can't sleep."

"Yeah, we've been over that."

"Can you sleep? Did I wake you?"

"Of course you bloody woke me!" he lied. "Three in the morning, remember?"

"Oh. Sorry."

"Look, go and have a glass of wine. Watch a video or something."

"I don't like my television," she said. "Sometimes I think it doesn't like me." Her voice was sleep-deprived and fuzzy around the edges; the effect was similar to the way she spoke when she was three sheets to the wind.

Gene was pretty sure she wasn't pissed right now, though. He shook his head. "You've been awake too long; you're spouting more drivel than usual."

"I know."

"Look, Alex, I can't wave a magic wand and make the insomnia go away, all right? Not sure what you expect me to do."

He heard her sigh. The sound was lost, hopeless, helpless. He bit the inside of his lip.

"I just wanted to hear a friendly voice," she said.

He snorted. "And you called _me_? You've definitely been awake too long."

"Just talk to me. For a while. If you don't mind."

"Oh, why would I mind?" he asked, sarcasm dripping.

"Please?"

"Blimey, woman, you are hard bloody work." He was faking the exasperation at this point, though. Going through the motions. "Fine. Seeing as I'm awake anyway – what do you want to talk about?"

"I have no idea. Anything."

Gene shifted in irritation, but he recognised Alex's symptoms only too well. There was a part of him that sympathised. And the distraction was actually welcome, since he had similar symptoms of his own. "All right then," he said. "What do you usually do when you can't sleep? I mean – those times you don't have a long-suffering DCI to bother at arse-o'clock in the morning."

"Usually?" He heard humour in her voice, but it was humour of the darkest, bleakest kind. "God, I don't even know what that means anymore. You see, usually I'd make myself a cup of hot chocolate with a generous shot of brandy in it, and I'd see what movies are on Sky."

"On what?"

"There. You see? _That_ is my problem with 'usually'. Everything's different now."

He shook his head in bewilderment, though it wasn't as though she could see the gesture. "I have no idea what that means."

"No? Me neither." Another sigh. "Look, the point is, I can't do what I'd usually do."

"Which is look at the sky and see films."

"Not _the_ sky, just–" She made a growling noise of frustration. "Doesn't matter. Don't you ever get insomnia?"

He thought about lying again, but something about the quietness of the night and the intimacy of their telephone connection stopped him. "Sometimes," he admitted.

"What do you do?"

"I tell myself I didn't want to sleep in any case. Then I put something on the telly, have a few drinks." He sniffed. "More you think about not being able to sleep, worse it gets."

"Exactly. I needed a distraction. And I'm a little bit scared of my television right now, so that left you."

"Why are you scared of your television?"

"Because I'm an insane woman, remember?"

He cracked a smile. He couldn't help it. As annoying and incomprehensible as she was, Alex Drake was never bland and boring company. "Right." Gene rubbed his eyes. "You know, you're not catching me at a great moment, here, Bols. I've been in chattier moods."

"I know. Sorry. Um – tell you what," she said. "Ask me a question. Anything you like. Nothing is off-limits. I may refuse to answer, but if I do answer I'll be completely honest. Then I get to ask you something. _Quid pro quo_. Do we have a deal?"

"Quid pro what? You want to charge me for my conversation–"

"It's Latin. It doesn't matter. I'm offering a question for a question. Deal?"

"You overestimate my interest in your psyche's nooks and crannies," he told her, even as his mind conjured a dozen tantalising questions he'd rather like to know the answer to.

"Oh, you don't have to be interested. Just play along. Look at it this way. You've got nothing to lose. You can answer every single thing I ask with, 'Bugger off and don't be so nosy,' if you like." She paused, then added, "If you're chicken."

"Is that supposed to appeal to my machismo?" he asked disdainfully. "Because it might interest you to know that I'm not twelve years old anymore."

"Just as well," she said. "Considering the kind of questions I'm thinking of asking."

There was a pause.

Gene frowned. "See, now, Bols, that sounded suspiciously like flirting."

"Did it? Well, you could ask me about it. Just to start the ball rolling. Or you could ask something else." When he hesitated, she added, "If you're struggling for inspiration, 'What are you wearing?' is a classic opener."

Gene shook his head again. "What?"

"Come on. Be a man. Ask me something."

"Right you are, Bols. What's the capital of Peru?"

She snorted. He wasn't sure whether she was amused or impatient, or both. "Lima," she replied. "My go. What are you wearing?"

"Bugger off and don't be so nosy."

"Gene–"

"Pyjamas, Bolly. It's three o'clock in the morning, I'm in bed, so I'm wearing pyjamas."

"Describe them."

He rolled his eyes and thought about cutting the call short. But he didn't. And not just because his brain was starting to catch up with the direction that this conversation seemed to be taking. "They're blue. Dark blue."

"Cotton or silk?"

"Silk. Well, don't know if they're actual silk. But they're–"

"Silky?"

He huffed. "I'm not sure I'm coming out of this discussion looking very manly."

"Trust me, your manliness is not in question. Your turn. Ask me something."

Gene pouted at the bedroom ceiling. "Okay. Are you trying to have phone-sex with me?"

Alex was quiet for a moment, then she said, "It seems to be a distinct possibility."

He wet his mouth. "'Cause I can be there in half an hour."

"Ohh, no, no, no," she said. "Plausible deniability. It has to be maintained."

"What?"

"I mean, we're probably both dreaming this conversation anyway. No reason to feel awkward with each other come Monday morning. Didn't even happen."

Gene frowned. "Maybe if I show up at your front door – maybe you're dreaming that too."

"Yeah, well, even if that scenario ends with you hoisting up your trousers and pissing off home, I still wake up in the morning in a bed that smells of sex. And has evidence of a wet-patch, probably. Thus, deniability goes flying out the window."

"So you're willing to have sex with me as long as you can pretend it never happened." He glared at the window opposite the end of the bed. "And they say romance is dead."

"Is that going to stop you joining in?"

"Is that your next question?"

"I suppose it is."

He glanced down his own body. He was getting hard. As annoying as she was, Alex Drake was talking about having sex with him. In that posh, plummy voice, all intimate in his ear...Gene sighed. "For the record? There's more fun ways of doing this."

"Sounds like you're ready to join in."

"Looks like part o' me is," he muttered.

"Hmm. Thank you for the visual." She actually sounded grateful. "Your turn."

He licked his lips again and then asked, "What are you wearing, Alex?"

"Do you want the truth, or shall I make up something unfeasibly sexy?"

Gene swallowed. "Truth."

"Cotton pyjamas. Pale, with grey and brown stripes. I found them in the third drawer down."

"Yeah. I know. They're mine."

"Do you want them back?"

"I'd imagine they look better on you." He heard the gravel that had come into his voice. The seduction was taking a hold, and he wasn't sure where it had come from or why it was happening now, after so many months of flirting then backing off. Though thinking about it, he had an open invitation to ask anything, so he might as well clarify the issue. "Why is this happening now, Bolly?"

She paused for a while, then she said, "I'm not sure I can answer that."

"Can't or won't?"

"Or that." He heard her give an irritated sigh, which saved him the bother. "I don't know, Gene. I'm tired and frustrated. I'm lonely. I'm scared. And for some reason, hearing your voice is making me feel better."

"You don't have to get all sexy with me if you just need someone to talk to."

"I know. But hearing your voice is also making me feel...all sexy."

He nodded. It made a circular kind of sense, which was above-average in terms of the logic Alex Drake normally displayed. "Go on, then," he invited. "Your turn."

"If you were here right now, what would you do?"

"I'm pretty sure you don't need to ask me that."

"Details, Gene. I want details." Her voice had become breathy.

He let his eyes drift closed, and imagined her lying on her bed, clad in a pair of his own pyjamas, watching him. Eyes dark. Lips parted. Shoulders moving with quickened breaths.

"I'd be standing in the doorway to your bedroom," he said. "Leaning against the frame, looking at you. As you undo the buttons to that pyjama top. Slowly. Starting at the top, working your way down."

"I could do that," she agreed in a whisper.

"Do it."

There was a shuffle down the line and he imagined her moving to reach for those buttons. His erection went from 'semi' to 'full on'. He refused to give in to the urge to take a hold of it.

"Tell me," he murmured.

"Two buttons undone. Two to go. And I'm looking at you all the while. Watching me. Wanting me."

Oh, he wanted her. "When the buttons are undone," he said, "I want to see you slip your hand inside the top. Touch your breast. Under the cotton."

Her breathing was suspended for a moment, then she gasped. "I'm stroking my breast," she told him.

"Is your nipple hard?"

"Yes."

"Roll it between your fingertips."

She gave a moan that seemed to go straight from the telephone receiver and down his body to his loins. "Gene..."

He moved his free hand to his cock and began to brush his fingers, very lightly, over himself. "Does that feel good?"

"Yes."

"Don't you wish it was my hand?"

"Yes."

"Too bad. I like watching. You can see in my eyes how much I like watching."

"Yes."

"Touch your other breast." He wet his lips. "Tease yourself. For me." He heard her sigh with sensual pleasure and gave her the time to follow his instructions. "Now take the top off and lie down, nice and comfy. I want to see more."

More shuffling. Gene watched everything in his mind's eye. Those breasts, soft and voluptuous, with peaking nipples, tweaked and stroked by her own slender hands.

"Are you hard for me?" she whispered after a moment.

"God, yes. Watching you like this drives me wild. Keep stroking those beautiful tits. Tease your nipples."

"All right." She was panting lightly.

"You're excited."

"Yes. Oh, yes."

"You're wet for me already, aren't you, Alex?"

She moaned again, and he imagined her squirming on the bed. His brushing fingertips were no longer stimulation enough, and he pushed his pyjama bottoms down his thighs. His erection sprang free, and he could feel it throb with his own heartbeat.

"Tell me you're wet," he instructed.

"Yes. I'm wet for you, Gene. But I've been wet for you for a long time."

He gave a soft groan and took his cock in his hand. "Move one of your hands down your body. Nice and slow. Push it under the waist of your pyjamas."

"Mmm."

"Caress yourself."

"Gene..."

"I'm right here, Alex. Right here with you. I'm watching you touch yourself, and I'm so hard I can't even think straight..."

"Oh, god." Her quickened breaths stuttered – perhaps she dry-swallowed – then she breathed another moan. "Ohh, feels good."

The muscles in his abdomen tensed without warning, and his shoulders lifted up from the bed before he could relax again. His cock was weeping with excitement now, and he spread the moisture over the sensitive head.

"Push your pyjamas down," he told her. "I want to see you."

As she shuffled again, he began to stroke himself, as slowly as he could stand. He imagined her kicking those pyjama bottoms away, lying back on her bed, spreading her thighs. His arousal flared in a bright burst of erotic sensation. He grunted with it, and breathed to steady himself.

"Part your thighs and stroke yourself," he whispered. "Use your fingertips. Little circles around your clit."

"Yes..." She hesitated, then made a crooning sound down the phone. "Gene."

"I'm here. You have to do this for me. Show me. Push a finger inside. I want to see it all."

"Does it look good?" she asked.

His hand quickened a little as the scene played out behind his eyes. He was breathing hard. "You look like a fucking goddess. Your body's rocking now."

"Yes."

"You know the rhythm you like, and I'm watching. Learning it all. Because I _know_ you wish it was my hand."

"Yes." She moaned again.

" _My_ fingers dipping inside you, caressing, sliding."

"Oh god, Gene..." There was a new urgency to her voice, her gasps, her excitement.

So he matched it. "My mouth on you," he promised her. "My tongue." She gave a strangled cry. Gene stroked himself harder. "Tasting you," he whispered breathlessly. "Teasing you. You want that."

"Yes, god, yes I do..."

"You want _me_."

"Gene."

"You want me hard for you. Driving into you. Filling you up." She cried out again: so close. He was close too. "I want you to come now, Alex," he said. "Let it all go. Show me how beautiful you are when you–"

He didn't get the rest of the sentence out, because Alex's cries grew loud and abandoned. Amid the raw sound of her release he heard her attempt his name, and he could see her in his mind's eye, shivering and squirming on her bed as orgasm ripped through her. She was thinking of him. She was thinking of him as she came–

"Fuck," he gasped. His hand sped on his cock and his head pushed back into the pillows. Heat pooled in his gut, and his balls tightened. Climax shimmered like a mirage, just out of reach for a moment, then with a rush it was upon him. He spasmed with the brute force of this pleasure, then his cock pulsed as he ejaculated over his own hand and stomach. He heard himself grunt in time with the waves of release. Moments later the only sound was of the pair of them panting down the telephone line.

A minute or so passed. It seemed that neither of them knew what to say. But he couldn't just put the phone down. It would have offended his sense of decency.

When the absence of conversation got to be too much, he sighed and said, "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she said. "I was wrong about how this way isn't awkward after, though, wasn't I?"

"You're supposed to be feeling relaxed."

"I am. Very. And awkward."

"There's no need," he told her, though he felt the same way. He tried to give her a way out. "We're probably just dreaming this conversation, anyway."

"Problem with dreams," Alex said, "is that you wake up alone."

Gene frowned. His eyes opened. "Okay, now I'm confused. I thought you wanted deniability."

"I did." She gave a wistful sigh. "Only now it seems I want cuddling."

He rolled his eyes. "You are definitely hard bloody work."

"If it's any consolation, I'm completely aware of that. Thing is – if it's going to be awkward anyway, then why deny myself the good stuff?"

He scowled at the bedroom ceiling. "If I get up, get in my car and drive over to your flat, are you going to change your mind again before I knock on your front door?"

"Hmm. Fair question."

"An answer would be nice."

"I think," she said, "you should come over here and ask me that."

He waited a beat, then he said, "I'll be there in half an hour."

Gene put the phone down and sat up. He grimaced at the mess he'd made of himself, then went to clean up. Within the space of five minutes he'd thrown on some clothes and left the house.

While he drove, he told himself it was just about insomnia, and distraction, and loneliness. If they were both having trouble sleeping then it made sense that they seek each other out. And if sex had become a part of their dynamic, so what? It had been on the horizon for months. It wouldn't change anything. Well, unless you counted the way it would ease the tension and frustration and therefore improve their more everyday interactions.

He ignored the fact that he was driving across town in the middle of the night because Alex Drake wanted him to put his arms around her.

Gene parked up outside Luigi's twenty-three minutes after he'd set off. He looked up at the second floor window. The living room was darkened. She was still in the bedroom, waiting for him. He got out and used his own key on the side door, then he climbed the staircase inside.

He paused at the front door, wondering whether to knock. He decided against it. If Alex had indeed changed her mind then the least she could bloody do was admit it to his face. He opened the front door and slipped into the flat.

"Alex?" he said. He received no reply. He frowned and moved to the bedroom door, which he pushed open.

She lay on her side beneath the covers, one pillow clasped to her middle, breathing slow and steady. Post-orgasmic snoozing.

"Oh, you've _got_ to be bloody joking," he muttered.

The Alex-shape stirred. "Gene?"

"You were expecting someone else?"

"Shut up and take your clothes off."

He scowled, even as he shrugged his jacket from his shoulders. "Were you sleeping?"

"Not sure. Hard to tell with the brain-fuzziness." She rolled on her back and threw an arm across her eyes to block out the light from the bedside lamp. He saw a tantalising glimpse of bare shoulder. She was naked beneath the bedclothes: as naked as he had instructed her to become.

"Throw the covers back," he said as he unbuttoned his shirt. "I want to see you."

She moved her arm and looked at him for a moment. When he took off his shirt and draped it over the chair set before her dressing table, her eyes wandered lower. She smiled. "You know," she told him, "you are suspiciously good at phone-sex."

"Oh, I have cards in phone boxes. Nice little earner. Covers, Alex."

She straightened the pillow she'd been hugging, then she shuffled over to the far side of the bed and stretched a leg out of the covers. She bent it at the knee, most of her body still hidden by the sheets, then she rolled into the middle of the bed. She ended up lying on her stomach, the edge of the sheet trapped between her thighs, her backside on full view.

"Tease," he accused her. Gene couldn't remember the last time he'd managed two orgasms in the same night, but it seemed his nether regions weren't bothered by the lack of familiarity. The blood flooded to his loins. He looked at her and wet his mouth.

"I used to masturbate like this," she said softly. "When I was young. Rub myself against the edge of the quilt, or a pillow."

Gene gave a soft groan. "Are you trying to give me a ruddy heart attack?"

She shifted her position so she could look back at him without spoiling his view of her arse. Her look was feral, uninhibited. "No, Gene, that's definitely not what I'm trying to give you." She bent her legs until her bottom lifted up. Presenting herself, inviting, begging.

"Oh, god," he muttered.

"Take your trousers off. Please?"

He remembered himself and went for his belt buckle. As he undid his trousers he toed his boots off. Alex watched, hair spilling over her face. She leaned on one arm and reached to stroke herself. By the time Gene pushed his trousers and shorts down his legs, he was as hard as he'd ever been.

"Oh, yes please," she breathed, her eyes covetous as she scrutinised his cock. "I want. I want very, very much."

It occurred to Gene, as he kicked his clothing away, that it was just as well he'd already climaxed once that night. If she was going to play this kind of a game then stamina might have otherwise been an issue. As it stood, he could afford to play along.

He moved to the end of the bed and stopped, looking at her. He took his cock in his hand and stroked himself. "You want this?"

"Yes. Oh yes...yes..." Her hand was speeding between her legs. She was rocking against the motion. Getting too far ahead of him.

"Stop touching yourself," he instructed.

She gave a groan of frustration, but her hand desisted. As if to get him back, she bent her legs further and hoisted her backside high in the air. The pinkness of her labia glistened in the soft light.

Gene leaned a knee on the mattress, then he crept closer and reached for her hip. He caressed her, over her bottom and down her thigh, then he angled his fingers to sweep upwards. She leaned in to the touch and moaned. The moan became a gasp when his fingers slid under and around, and they found the swollen nub of her clitoris.

"Oh, DI Drake," he murmured. "You are very, very wet indeed."

"And does this meet with my DCI's approval?" she asked.

Gene glanced down at his aching hard erection. "I think I'd struggle to convince if I said 'no'."

She hummed a laugh and wriggled against his teasing fingers. "Mmm. Much nicer than do-it-yourself."

He withdrew his fingers and indulged in a playful spank, then he grasped his cock and slid the tip of it over her. Alex groaned and tried to press back, but he placed his free hand in the small of her back and waited until she grew still. With infinite deliberation he guided the head of his cock over her to nudge her clit. Alex gasped and shivered. He used his hand to rub himself back and forth against her, his excitement mingling with hers, their combined slickness making little kissing noises as he moved. He squeezed the shaft of his cock as he teased her, and thought about how erotic it would be to bring them both off like this...

But then he considered the snug heat of her cunt, all wrapped around him, and he decided he had more pressing urges. He guided his cock away from her clit and held it in position. Alex gave a pleading murmur and tried to look back at him.

Gene pushed inside, just a little, and he rocked to be sure she was ready. She pushed back and muttered words that mainly consisted of 'yes' and 'fuck' and even a 'please'. So he grasped her by the hips and drove himself home with a grunt. Alex cried out, and he sympathised because _god_ , she felt good. Heavenly. So wet, so hot. He eased back and watched himself slide free, saw his cock glisten with the way she wanted him, used his hands on her backside to spread her so he could see it all. Then he grasped her firmly again and thrust back.

"Christ, Alex," he whispered.

"More," she breathed.

He gave a small smile and began to rock in and out. Her wetness covered him; the scent of her body was turning the air to honey. He reached beneath her and found a breast, pinched and pulled at a pebbled nipple, and her moans spurred him on. When his knees threatened to slip on the sheets with his eagerness, he leaned over her and grabbed for the edge of the headboard. She thrust back with every surge his body made, animal noises of pleasure tearing from her throat, muffled by the pillows. His hips quickened. God, it felt good: finally giving this annoying, challenging, drop-dead gorgeous bloody woman the seeing-to he'd wanted to give her for months on end. Hearing and feeling how much she was loving it. He wanted to give her more, wanted to hear her become incoherent as the pleasure threatened overload...he let go of the headboard and moved his fingers over and around, lower, lower, until they found that magic bundle of nerves. He flicked and tickled and found her rhythm until her pleasure-sounds became frantic.

Alex sobbed and gasped, "Oh god, Gene, I'm–"

She cried rapture into the still of the night and her body pulsed around him. Gene groaned as everything collided: sound and vision and touch and smell. He reached blindly for the headboard and his thrusts grew shallow and fast. Everything was hot and white and filled with the delicious ache of nearly-there, and she was so wet, so wet, and he drove into her one last time and shuddered as orgasm took him. His head fell back. At her hip his hand dug into her skin as he pressed her to him, and deep inside her his essence pumped forth in waves of bliss.

Their climax took a while to recede. Alex's body slid lower, relaxing against the mattress, and he followed her down. Still buried inside her, he leaned his upper body on one elbow and used his free hand to brush the hair from the back of her neck. He nuzzled in, and kissed, kissed, kissed. As her breathing evened out she gave a contented sigh.

"That's nice," she whispered.

"Which bit?"

"All of it."

"Mmm." Kissing her neck. Kissing her there because he wanted to kiss her and couldn't reach her mouth. Would she want him to kiss her mouth? Or was that too much to expect? Was this just about getting off? About more visceral urges than lovemaking?

"You know," she said softly, "when I asked you to drive over here and give me a cuddle, I wasn't expecting round two."

"Oh, that's why you stuck your arse in the air at me, is it?"

"Well, I'd sort of started expecting it _then_."

He grunted with amusement. "Five seconds after I showed up?"

She hesitated, then she said, "I might have been underestimating how much I've wanted this."

"And, er, what is 'this' exactly, Bols?"

She gave another sigh. "Good question. What do you think it is?"

"I asked first."

"Oh, we're being cagey now, are we?"

"Looks like," he said pointedly. "You phoned _me_."

"I did. I needed you."

"And I'm here." He kissed her neck again. "Feeling awkward?"

"Actually no. Knackered. Slightly sore in a couple of places. Deliciously relaxed. And the post-coital glow is very nice."

"Mmm."

"And I could definitely go for some cuddling right now, if you're still amenable?"

Gene inhaled through his nose and moved to disconnect their bodies. He rolled to lie on his back beside her. He knew he should go to the bathroom and clean up, but like she'd said, the post-coital glow was very nice.

"Here," she said. He turned to look at her. She was handing him a bundle of cloth that looked familiar; he placed the memory. His pyjamas. The ones she'd been wearing earlier when they'd started all this.

Good enough. He wiped himself dry. Alex was settling under the covers. He joined her, offered his arm, and smiled when she snuggled in close. His fingers traced the curve of her spine, and he used his other hand to brush her hair back again, this time so he could kiss her forehead.

She hummed and looked up, lifting her head. Alex considered his mouth, then found his eyes. "You know," she whispered, "I think we both know what this is."

Gene gave a small shrug. "Long as we're both on the same page."

"Usually the kissing comes first."

"Thought you had no truck wi' 'usually'."

"Good point." She smiled and lowered her lips to his, and they kissed. Slow, soft, undemanding. A different kind of first kiss to the one they'd have shared had they not gone about this whole thing backwards.

Not that he was complaining.

They stopped only when Alex needed to rest her head again. She slid her leg over his nearest one and they settled in an intimate embrace.

"Think you could sleep now?" he asked.

"I'll give it a damn good go. Either way, you should get some more sleep. I think I've interrupted your rest enough for one night."

Gene huffed a laugh. "I lied earlier. You didn't wake me up."

"Oh?"

"Insomnia. I was about to get up and go downstairs when you rang."

"Ah. So – think you could sleep now?"

He smirked. "I'll give it a ruddy good go."

"Okay." She sighed. "We'll see how it goes, then."

"Yeah, let's do that."

"Can you get the light?"

He turned to the bedside table and reached for the lamp. The darkness wrapped itself around them. Alex's breath was warm against his shoulder. He coaxed her head up just enough to slide one of the pillows under it. She settled with a sigh.

"Night, Bols," he whispered.

"Night."

Gene lay there in the darkness, warm and relaxed, and he listened to her breathing grow deep and steady. He hoped she was sleeping. He didn't expect to sleep himself, but this would do for–

The thought wasn't quite complete in his wandering mind when sleep overcame him.

~~~~~~

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my LJ/Dreamwidth journals in 2010. This version is updated.


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